


shelter

by aliferously



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, OTHERWISE THIS IS SOFTD ENERGY, also a warmup so excuse any mistakes oops, patton and roman are namedropped but they aren't in it, rated teen Only because there's the f word, theres like 2 swears but thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliferously/pseuds/aliferously
Summary: Virgil isn't a soft person.But sitting on his fire escape with Dee has always been his comfort, and maybe, just for Dee, Virgil can be soft.There's no one else, could ever hold me, like you do.There's nowhere else, that I'd rather be than with you.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	shelter

**Author's Note:**

> henlo!!! the title and italicized lyrics from the summary are from the song Shelter by FINNEAS, which i looked at after writing this and got shook because the lyrics match up to the overall vibe like,,,, so much. so much. 
> 
> also it's a bop
> 
> hope u enjoy !! <3

Virgil has no idea what the laws about fire escapes are, but he feels like he might be breaking a few of them. 

Like, he knows that nobody cares if he chills on the fire escape to escape more than fire, but he’s started transforming it into a getaway, of sorts. He has a waterproof mat that he regularly dries off, places a towel to buffer, and piles with blankets. He strung up some fairy lights the other day when he saw similar lights strung around Patton’s room, because, fuck it, right? 

Which is odd, Virgil knows. The fire escape isn’t his  _ balcony _ . He doesn’t have a balcony. In fact, he dreams of the day he has the money for an apartment with a balcony. 

The other day Patton gifted him a succulent and Virgil doesn’t want it to  _ die _ , so he finds a spot for it on his fire escape. 

And he’s sitting there, at eleven o'clock at night, when loud clanging sounds above him. 

Startling, Virgil forces himself to focus on keeping his tea  _ in _ his mug instead of splattered across his blankets. There’s a few more noises, a window closing, some breaths. 

“Hey, Virge,” his neighbor to the north says. He’s leaning over the edge of his own fire escape, teeth and eyes bright in the starlight. Fabric drapes along his arms, soft and loose. 

“Hey,” Virgil says. He settles further into his hoodie, back pressed against a pillow, supported by the external wall of the building. He peers up at his neighbor. “Coming down?” 

His neighbor makes a noise of confirmation before disappearing. Moments later, he slips down the fire escape, touching down softly on Virgil’s private getaway. 

He sinks down, expression smoothing. He practically melts into his own pillow setup, a tired sigh escaping his lips. 

Virgil hums. Drinks some tea. Stares at the lights of the city. 

“You would not believe how the actor for Belle treated me today,” Dee starts. Virgil reaches to a spot outside the realm of blankets, grabbing another mug and handing it to Dee, who takes it without preamble. He takes a sip with one hand, the other settling on the blankets between them. 

Virgil watches his movements absently. He makes a noise deep in his throat, confirming that he’s listening to Dee’s story. 

Dee talks, and talks, and talks, but it doesn’t sound like rambling. Everything he says is concise, well-thought out, to the point. He’s only talking about his day, a day in the life of a community theater stage hand, but Virgil feels warmed all the same. 

He reaches a point where he says, “and then, the newbie says he doesn’t know how to throw weight,” and Virgil cuts in with, “seems like he can barely pull his own weight,” and Dee startles. 

The night moves forward, clouds slugging across the sky, choked by pollution. But Dee laughs, and the stars shine a little brighter, the breeze feels a little warmer, the night grows a little quieter. 

Virgil smiles into his mug. 

“You know,” Dee says. Virgil can read his hesitation on the slight stick of the word, in his fingers twining around the soft blankets, in his shoulders shifting and tightening. “We’re gonna make it, you and I.” 

Virgil tears his gaze away from Dee’s hands, their eyes locking together. He can’t see the color of Dee’s eyes in the darkness, not really, but the shine of the fairy lights and Virgil’s memory fill in the striking green easily enough. 

Dee’s staring at him like he can solve the world’s problems. No -- not the world’s problems.  _ Dee’s _ problems. Like Virgil could say the word and his worries would vanish, dissipating in the cool spring air. 

Virgil doesn’t know what to do with this power. 

For now, though, he’ll keep stealing Dee’s nights, holding his time hostage as they soak in the city and each other’s company. 

Virgil doesn’t reply. He sets his mug down on a blanket-less surface to prevent spilling. He shifts, shrinking the space between them inches at a time and tangling their fingers together. 

He holds Dee’s hand with reverence, memorizing the creases and calluses for the dozenth time.  _ I know _ , he says in brushing his thumb against the back of Dee’s hand.  _ We’ll make it together _ , he adds, pressing nimble fingers against Dee’s strong wrist. 

Dee hums. One of his hands still holds the mug but his other slides easily into Virgil’s own halting Virgil’s wordless conversation. 

He leans back against the pillow, peering up at the tangle of metal stretching above them. Up, up, up, all the way to the apartments Virgil and Dee cannot afford, even in such a run down building as this one. 

“Roman?” Virgil asks, cutting through the gentle softness of the night. They aren’t soft, not exactly. They have jagged edges, torn through situations neither likes to talk about, but sitting on a fire escape surrounded by soft things sometimes allows them to forget. 

Like a game of pretend. Like sitting together, two shattered people trying to claw their way back up, this time  _ legally _ , like sitting in the quiet and talking about easy topics will change their life. 

Well. Virgil considers. It  _ has _ changed their life, even a little bit, hasn’t it? 

Dee shifts. His thumb runs circles against Virgil’s wrist. Virgil catches the glint of a smile. “He said we’re in it for the long haul,” he says. He turns to look at Virgil as he says it, and Virgil’s hit with the full force of Dee’s grin. 

Every time Dee smiles his entire face transforms. He could topple nations with the quirk of his lips alone. 

Virgil, though. His chest swells up, emotion thrumming against every nerve, and he smiles back. 

Dee looks away first, looking overwhelmed. They’re closer than they were before, their shoulders pressing. Virgil can feel warmth through the many layers of clothing between them. 

Dee takes a breath, staring pointedly at the world beyond them, and continues. “Roman got a callback for a travelling group. The callback is scheduled for next week. If he makes it, he’ll have a five month tour. If he lands a good spot, I’ll be with him.”

“That’s a long time,” Virgil says out loud. He leans, dropping his head against Dee’s shoulder.  _ I don’t want you to leave but I want you to go.  _

“Yeah,” Dee says, instead of the thousand other thoughts that Virgil  _ knows _ are swirling around his head. Such as,  _ come with me. Live with me. Leave your apartment, quit your shitty office job, become an author a poet an artist, the person you always wanted to be. Write that song. Laugh. Paint a picture so gorgeous everyone will stop and stare. Live.  _

Dee settles his head against the top of Virgil’s, the two of them curled together like birds seeking warmth. “Yeah,” he says instead. 

They don’t have arguments on the fire escape. It’s their ever present unspoken rule, and Virgil knows that Dee feels just as strongly about the sanctity of existing together in a space never tainted. 

They talk about life, but not about movement. 

But, maybe this once… 

“Maybe,” Virgil whispers. The words steal away in the darkness, lost in the rumble of car engines and sounds of the city. 

Dee tenses. His arm, which has slipped around Virgil’s back, holds him tighter. Virgil can read the questions in his movement. The hope beaming out of the cracks in Dee’s facade. 

“Not now,” Virgil says. He knows the words leave a lot up to interpretation; not now  _ what? _ Not now, Virgil can’t move? Can’t uproot his life? Not now, he can’t deal with hard questions? 

But Virgil just  _ knows _ , he knows between the subtle shifts and parted lips, that Dee caught his meaning.  _ Not now _ . Virgil can’t talk about this right now. But Virgil knows Dee also caught the underlying  _ later. _

Virgil exhales. Between the glitter of the fairy lights and the city beyond them, Virgil feels wrapped in a little bubble of his own making. 

Safe. 

Dee moves, just enough to set his own mug down and settle more completely against Virgil’s form.  _ I love you, _ Virgil says, in tapping against Dee’s thigh, in melting in Dee’s arms. 

A quiet moment, the city sounding so, so far away, then;  _ I love you too _ , Dee says, fingers sliding against Virgil’s arm, cheek pressed against the crown of Virgil’s head. 

Virgil doesn’t have a balcony. He doesn’t have the money for it. 

But wrapped in Dee’s arms, lights glittering around them, the night loud far away but quiet where they sit, he thinks that maybe a balcony isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. 

After all, Virgil has never been more content than when he’s sitting on his fire escape, Dee by his side. 


End file.
